


What You Were Fighting For

by elimalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-11-02 09:43:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elimalfoy/pseuds/elimalfoy
Summary: He hadn't expected anything to happen, he'd just sent to scrap of paper...away, hoping to vanish the fears and nightmares that seemed to follow him around constantly now."Once I said I knew what I was fighting for. Now, I'm not so sure."Then, inexplicably and impossibly, the response had arrived, and maybe that was all it had taken to remind him.





	What You Were Fighting For

**Author's Note:**

> Okay...SO  
I can't say that this is my best work, but it's something. I did follow the movie plot instead of the books? Which I don't love? But it worked better for this story?  
Anywho, please enjoy and comment if you are so inclined.
> 
> Also, I was the only one editing so all mistakes are purely my own.

Ron was gone, and he didn’t blame him, truly. It was like he said. He didn’t understand. His family was dead. But Ron’s wasn’t, and Ron needed to be with them. More than he needed to be here, looking for horcruxes, running from Death Eaters. Ron made a choice, and he understood why.

Hermione had stayed, but she was still…gone, somehow. She was lost in her grief, for her family, for Ron. She went through the motions, setting up wards, collecting food, searching for answers in her books. She didn’t talk to him anymore, though. She didn’t smile, didn’t laugh.

He was alone, maybe more than he’d ever been before. Stuck far away from everyone he loved, without a clue of where to looks next, and with the crushing knowledge that the fate of their world rested on his shoulders.

So, he’d sent the first note.

_“Once I said I knew what I was fighting for. Now, I’m not so sure. Sometimes I feel like I’ve already lost it all already.”_

He hadn’t expected anything to happen, he’d merely flew the scrap of parchment away until he couldn’t see anymore. He thought it would make him feel better, feel something. It hadn’t. He felt just as empty as he had before.

He and Hermione had moved camp again, always running before they could be traced. It was getting colder, and most of the trees were completely bare, giving the forest an eerie sense of vulnerability. Their only protection was the invisible magic they cast, and somehow, that wasn’t the least bit reassuring.

He’d offered to take the first watch. He’d learned that if he didn’t push the matter, Hermione would insist on guarding the entire time. She wasn’t watching for Snatchers or Death Eaters though. She was waiting for Ron. Even when he did force her back to the tent, he knew she wouldn’t be sleeping. Neither of them could, it seemed.

He poked the fire, praying some of the heat could ease how cold and empty he felt.

Then he saw it, a tiny scrap of parchment paper, like the one he’d sent, but somehow different, floating towards him.

_“I don’t know what I’m fighting for. I have no reason to fight at all, actually. I’m just another nameless pawn in this miserable game, and there’s no way out.”_

It wasn’t his handwriting, and they weren’t his words. Somehow, inexplicably, his note had reached someone, and somehow, inexplicably, they’d responded.

_“Is this all there is? Is there no running away?”_

He waited all night for a reply.

The days passed quickly, but the time seemed slower than ever. No leads, no news, no nothing. Hermione had resorted to rereading her entire library, and he continued to half-heartedly join her. His glasses were covered in frost by the time he woke up each morning, a sign that even though their little world changed very little, somewhere out there, things were changing rapidly.

He knew as much from the radio station. It had been suspended a handful of times due to the ever-looming threat of capture. Then it would return, listing off in slow, detached voices the names of everyone who’d been killed so far. The news never seemed good, and maybe that was his fault. Maybe they were all waiting for him to do something, to send them some sign of progress. He had nothing to offer though.

_“There is futility in denial. Escaping destiny is a fool’s errand. I am merely filling the shoes I was always meant to.”_

Throwing all the questions he had away, he decided to simply respond. Whoever they were, wherever they were, maybe they understood. If nothing else, they knew how he truly felt. However strange it was, it felt…nice, to confess the deepest parts of himself to this stranger.

_“What if I can’t fill them?”_

_ “I don’t have any choice in the matter.”_

_ “What if I fail?”_

_ “Failure isn’t an option.”_

_ “How do you know?”_

_ “I know the consequences.”_

Someone once told him that all the answers he needed were already inside him. All his questions, the truth was already buried within him. If they were real, they were that voice. The one that spoke his worst fears aloud without sympathy or reassurance. It wasn’t nice, but maybe that was what he needed. But how could they know? How could they understand what he couldn’t even himself? 

_“Where are you?” _he tried one day, just to break the morose train of thoughts they’d established.

_“Where are you?” _the response had echoed. Fair enough. They were never meant to reveal themselves, it was an unspoken rule.

_“Who are you?” _he replied anyway.

_“Ignotus Peverell.”_ Ignotus. It wasn’t their real name, he knew, but it was something.

_“Vernon Dudley.” _He’d repressed a shudder at penning his uncle and cousin’s name, but it was untraceable. It was safe. _“How is this possible?”_

He’d been wondering how since…well, since he’d gotten the first reply. He hadn’t imagined any specific receiver, and he hadn’t attached any address. How did they find their way to Ignotus? And how did they find their way back, even while he travelled across the entirety of the British Isles, through Hermione’s countless, careful wards?

_“Magic.”_ He smiled, genuinely, for what felt like the first time in years. Simple as that. Magic.

_“What do you want to do when this is all over?”_

_ “You assume this will end? Or that there will be anything left once it is?”_

_ “What are we fighting for if there isn’t?”_

_ “To stay alive.”_

_ “Is that all? Life without living?”_

_ “There are worse alternatives.”_

He wasn’t thinking when it happened, he’d just been messing around with it unconsciously, a habit that he’d developed throughout the hours of silence. Flesh memories, the words appeared clearly in front of him. Hesitantly, and hoping no one was watching, he gently touched the tip of his tongue to the icy metal.

_I open at the close._

He’d told Hermione immediately, though she was no more sure what it meant than he was. She’d reciprocated though, shoving the old, beaten children’s book into his hands expectantly.

“There’s a picture here,” she murmured exasperatedly, “it’s been drawn in. I don’t know what it means—”

He squinted at it, trying to remember where he’d seen it before. “Luna’s father was wearing it at—at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.”

Hermione didn’t say anything, but continued staring at the strange symbol.

_“What was the point? Was everything just leading up to this ending?”_

_ “When the dust falls, we’ll know, won’t we?”_

_ “What if we never see it, the end?”_

_ “Then whoever remains will know the answer.” _

“I want to go Godric’s Hollow. It’s where I was born, where my parents died—”

“And exactly where You-Know-Who will be expecting you. Because it means something to you.”

“But it means something to him too!” he protested. “He nearly died there, wouldn’t that be the kind of place he’d hide a horcrux?”

She didn’t want to, he knew, but she shook her head in resignation.

_“Merry Christmas.”_

A part of him wondered if that would be his final message, assuming things went terribly wrong. Which was always a real possibility for him, especially now. He tried not to think about it.

He had no memories of Godric’s Hallow, not really. It was picturesque, the decorations and sounds of the holidays permeating the dark, cold night. He hadn’t meant to end up in the graveyard, but he’d ended up there nonetheless. He searched the rows, wondering, for the first time, where his parents had been buried.

However, he didn’t find their graves. He cast a dim lumos.

_Ignotus Peverell_

He dusted the remainder of the snow away, searching for…what, he didn’t quite know. Then he’d seen it. The same strange shape Luna’s father had been wearing, that Hermione had pointed out to him in her book—

“Harry,” Hermione called, a few rows down. She’d found them, he knew, before he even reached the headstone.

“_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death,_” he read aloud. Enemy. Destroyed. Death. It was too much. “Merry Christmas, Hermione,” he said instead.

“Merry Christmas, Harry.”

He stood for a moment, trying to figure out what he should feel, standing on top of his parent’s grave. He should feel sad, surely. It should light a fire of vengeance. Yet, all he felt was cold.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, “there’s someone watching us.”

Bathilda Bagshot, it had turned out, was not Bathilda Bagshot at all. They’d escaped, barely, slightly worse for wear, but alive.

“_There are worse alternatives,”_ the words of Ignotus echoed. Ignotus. Whoever they really were.

There were worse alternatives, but sitting in the cold with a broken and useless wand, burdened by the knowledge that the man he had trusted above all had been nothing more than…what? A murderer? Someone who once believed the same things as the madman he was trying to fight now?

“_Ignotus, I found your grave. Who are you?”_

_ “I’m the one who wanted to hide, to disappear.”_

_ “Why?”_

_ “Oblivion is peaceful, reality is a nightmare.”_

_ “Nightmares. I have those, all the time. I see all the people I’ve let down.”_

_ “My nightmares are memories of happier times, because I know they’re gone for good now.”_

Ignotus Peverell. The Stranger. Just one more mystery he couldn’t decipher. One more unknown that, no matter how much he wanted to, he would never truly know.

To hide…

_“Are we destined to forget it all? Are our memories just slipping through our fingers?”_

_ “Somethings I wish I could forget, somethings I hope I never will.”_

But he was simply waiting to be found, and almost in response, he was. It wasn’t the first time strange magic had appeared before him. Recently, even, he thought, glancing at the rapidly growing stack of parchments he stored in his bag. This was different though, and without a second thought, he followed it.

Then it hit him. A doe. His…mother. He followed faster, desperately hoping it wouldn’t slip through his grasp, that he’d be able to find…no, but that was impossible. All too soon, it was just him and the frozen ground below.

Frozen water, and judging by the horcruxes reaction, frozen water he needed to break through. He plunged into the dark water, momentarily arrested by the cold, but forced himself deeper. Deeper. Only realizing his mission when he felt the icy hilt within his grasp. But it was too late, he wasn’t the only one who had figured out its purpose.

For the second time in two days he had been rescued from certain death. Perhaps he’d grown accustomed to it, but Ron and Hermione certainly hadn’t.

“Do it,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. Ron, however, didn’t share his façade. He looked terrified.

_“What if all hope isn’t lost?”_

_ “I hope it isn’t, for you. I hope you can make it through…all of this.”_

_ “What about you?”_

_ “That’s the difference between us. There was never hope for me.”_

_ “How do you know?”_

_ “You already found my grave.”_

_ “Do you think it will be over soon?” _There was never any reply, which, perhaps, was answer enough.

“Hello Mr. Lovegood. I’m Harry Potter. We met a few months back?”

They stood awkwardly, waiting for some sign that the man recognized them. Surely he must, but…something had changed. He wasn’t the happy, albeit somewhat strange, man he’d met at the wedding. He looked like he’d lost everything. He knew the look well enough.

“Would it be alright if we came in? It won’t take long, sir. I promise.”

The Lovegood home was almost exactly as he would imagine it. No straight lines, everything slightly off kilter, filled to the brim with Quibblers and other fantastical papers.

“So, what brings you here, Mr. Potter?”

_There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too treacherous to pass but being learned in the magical arts, the three brothers simply waved their wands and made a bridge. Before they could cross, however, they found their path blocked by a hooded figure. It was Death and he felt cheated. Cheated because travellers would normally drown in the river, but Death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers on their magic and said that each had earned a prize for having been clever enough to evade him. The oldest asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence so Death fashioned him one from an elder tree that stood nearby. The second brother decided he wanted to humiliate Death even further and asked for the power to recall loved ones from the grave so Death plucked a stone from the river and offered it to him. Finally Death turned to the third brother. A humble man, he asked for something that would allow him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death. And so it was that Death reluctantly handed over his own cloak of invisibility. The first brother travelled to a distant village while with the Elder Wand in hand, he killed a wizard with whom he had once quarrelled. Drunk with the power that the Elder Wand had given him, he bragged of his invincibility. But that night, another wizard stole the wand and slit the brother's throat for good measure. And so Death took the first brother for his own. The second brother journeyed to his home where he took the stone and turned it thrice in hand. To his delight, the girl he once hoped to marry before her untimely death appeared before him. Yet soon she turned sad and cold for she did not belong in the mortal world. Driven mad with hopeless longing, the second brother killed himself so as to join her. And so Death took the second brother. As for the third brother, Death searched for many years but was never able to find him only when he attained a great age did the youngest brother shed the Cloak of Invisibility and give it to his son. He then he greeted Death as an old friend and went with him gladly, departing this life as equals._

“What about the Peverells?” he asked abruptly, the image of the gravestone had been permanently seared into his memories. “Do they have something to do with the Deathly Hallows?”

Hermione and Ron shot him odd glances, but Xenophilius understood.

“Ignotus and his brothers Cadmus and Antioch are thought to be the original owners of the Hallows and therefore the inspiration for the story.”

Ignotus. The one who wanted to disappear, to hide.

“You’re my only hope. They were angry, you see, about what I’d been writing, so they took her. They took my Luna,” the ominous tone of Mr. Lovegood brought him back, and a horrible sinking feeling washed over him. “But it’s really you they want.”

“Well, is it him? Draco,” Lucius voice pleaded, “if it is, all will be forgiven.”

Draco bent down, inches away from him, and he waited for the inevitable reveal. The curtain was about to drop.

“What did he say his name was?” Draco asked instead.

“Vernon Dudley.”

He waited, hardly breathing, and then, so faintly it would have been impossible for anyone else to hear, Draco whispered, “Ignotus.”

“It isn’t him,” Draco announced boldly, as if there was no question, as if he wasn’t Harry Potter. Draco knew though, and he knew about the letters. And Draco was…Ignotus.

So, Ignotus Peverell had saved his life, all of their lives. He’d lied, and he’d brought their salvation. Dobby had said as much, chocking them out as his last words. Ignotus, who was still there, no doubt suffering the consequences of his actions.

Ignotus, who was Draco Malfoy. A broken, lonely, hopeless boy, forced into a life he never wanted, wandering towards a fate he could never avoid. Like two sides of the same coin. Neither of them had chosen, and neither of them could escape. They were the same. Except Draco had sacrificed himself, and he could only turn and run.

“Ignotus,” Luna said one day, looking curiously up at a dream catcher.

“Excuse me?”

“You have his cloak, don’t you? I saw it that day on the train,” she paused a moment, but she wasn’t waiting for him to speak. “He was the wisest of his brothers, did you know that? He never wanted fame and glory, and he never wanted to bring back what was lost. He knew the inevitability of death, and he chose to live what life he could until he could meet it knowing he’d done all that he could.”

Until he could gladly depart, he remembered.

“In the end, he passed his safety on to someone who needed it more,” Luna mused, “in some ways, he sacrificed himself.”

“No one asked him to sacrifice himself,” he spat bitterly. He hadn’t asked Draco to save him, he hadn’t asked Draco to give himself up as…some sort of martyr.

“No one forced him to,” Luna corrected, “he did it because it was the right thing to do, because he knew there was someone who mattered more than he did.”

Suddenly, he wasn’t sure who they were talking about anymore.

“You knew?”

“I was there for a long time,” she admitted with a far-off look, “he helped us. He wasn’t like the rest of them. He was…a good man.”

“Is,” he corrected, repeating the words to himself. He couldn’t be dead yet. He would know.

_You found my grave._

_“Why did you do it?”_

_ “Why didn’t you hide?”_

_ “Was I worth it?”_

He started sending the notes hourly, as often as he could. He could only manage a few moments waiting for a response before he tried again. His wand was gone, he decided. He had no parchment, he tried. He wasn’t dead, he assured himself. But there were fewer answers now than ever.

_“You aren’t a nameless pawn. I won’t forget you.” _He couldn’t forget him, because now he remembered just what he was fighting for.

“We have to go back, tonight.”

“We need to get into Hogwarts. Dumbledore gave us a job to do.”

“Did he now? Nice job? Easy?”

“It would seem that, despite your exhaustive defensive strategies, you have a bit of a security problem, Headmaster. And I’m afraid it’s quite extensive.”

“I know that many of you will want to fight. Some of you may even think this wise. But this is folly. I wish you no harm. I have great respect for the students of Hogwarts. I was once one myself after all. I ask for but one thing and if granted no magical blood shall be spilt. Give me Harry Potter. Do this and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave Hogwarts untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded.”

“Well, well, what brings you here, Vernon?”

All of his blood turned to ice, pooling somewhere deep inside him. That voice was…he’d tried to remember it for weeks now.

“I could ask you the same, Ignotus.”

He waited, the silence poignant. It was just them now, and for a moment, he forgot just why he was there.

“I’m hiding.”

“No, you’re not.” Draco didn’t protest, but he shifted uncomfortably. “Why didn’t you tell them? You knew it was me.”

“Why should I have?”

“Because you aren’t like them,” he repeated Luna’s words, “and now I need your help.”

“Again?”

He laughed despite himself. “You know this room better than anyone. I need to find Rowena Ravenclaw’s Diadem. It’s here somewhere.”

Draco didn’t answer or make any outward sign of agreement. He did, however, disappear, and return not a second later with the exact item he was after. Just like that, Draco had helped him without reason or motive. He’d just wanted to, because it was the right thing to do.

He heard their footsteps before he saw them. Ron and Hermione had found him after all, arms full of basilisk fangs. Clearly confused, they never had the chance to raise their wands before another party arrived. Draco’s back up, or, he supposed, his previous back up.

“Come on, Draco,” Goyle laughed, clearly not reading the situation, “don’t be a prat, just do him in.”

Draco took a slow, intentional step closer to him, but his wand remained tucked away.

“Draco,” Crabbe muttered, understanding dawning on his dense features.

“Alright then,” Goyle decided, taking the initiative to raise his own wand, “_Fiendfyre!”_

“We can’t leave him!”

“You’ve got to be joking!”  


“Ron, you once asked me if I thought he felt it—Voldemort—when we destroy a Horcrux, when we destroy a piece of his soul.”

“He does,” Draco answered for him. He would know, he realized.

“It’s the snake. She’s the last one. The last horcrux.”

Draco nodded, and he wondered if maybe it would have been a could idea to consult Draco from the start.

“He’ll keep her close,” Draco contributed with a noticeable wince.

“It answers to you and you only.”

“Does it?”

“My Lord?”

“The wand. Does it truly answer to me? You’re a clever man Severus,” Draco stiffened next to him, “surely you must know.”

“Where, Severus? Where does its loyalty lie?”

“With you, of course, my Lord.”

“The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. Ollivander was quite explicit about that. You killed Dumbledore, Severus. While you live, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine.”

“No,” Draco whispered, and he could feel how desperately he wanted to leap forward. He didn’t, though, even knowing what was about to happen.

“My Lord—”

“You have been a good and faithful servant, Severus, but only I can live forever.”

At least the sound of Snape’s body slamming against the wall covered Draco’s uncontainable cry of anguish. He was dead. They all knew it, but as soon as Voldemort was gone, they still rushed towards him.

“No,” Draco earnestly sobbed now, cradling a rapidly fading Snape in his arms. “Please, don’t.”

“Take them,” Snape chocked, and he noticed the tiny, pearlescent tears cascading down his cheek. Hermione silently passed him a small vial.

Then, with his last breath, Severus Snape whispered, “they are the same, you have your mother’s eyes.”

“So when the time comes, the boy must die.”

“Yes. And Voldemort himself must do it. That is essential.”

“You’ve kept him alive so that he can die at the proper moment. You’ve been raising him like a pig for slaughter.”

“But this is touching, Severus. Don’t tell me you’ve grown to care for the boy?”

“After all this time?”

“Always.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“We thought you’d gone to the forest, we thought you might be—” the relief on Ron’s face, however fleeting, was like another stab to his heart.

“I’m going there now.”

Confusion, understanding, pain, and anger flashed across Ron’s face. “Are you mad! No!”

“It’s meant to be.” His destiny. The role he was supposed to play. After all, he was just another pawn. With one glance, he could see that Draco understood. He wouldn’t protest, even though his sacrifices were in vain.

“Rubbish! You can’t just give yourself up to him—”

“What is it, Harry? What is it you know?”

He paused, searching for the words, any way that he could lessen the truth. “There’s a reason I can hear them—the Horcruxes. I think I’ve known for awhile. I think you’ve known too.”

Hermione let out a pitiful sob. She’d known. “I’ll go with you. I’ll—” but it was pointless, and they all knew it.

“Kill the snake,” he said, looking carefully at all of them, the strange group of allies that had assembled to witness his final moments. “Kill the snake and then it’s just him. Then it will be over.”

He turned to leave, when a loud, clear voice called out to him.

“Vernon!” Draco shouted. “I know what I’m fighting for, and it was all worth it.”

He knew what he was fighting for, too. Now, he could meet Death gladly, with no regrets.

“You’ll stay with me?

“Until the end.”

“Stay close to me.”

“Always.”

“Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived. Come to die.”

“Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who most deserve it.”

“Is he alive? Draco?” he nodded as slightly as he could manage. “Dead, my Lord.”

“Now is the time to declare yourself,” Voldemort’s booming voice announced to the crowd, looking expectantly across them. No one moved.

“Draco,” Lucius hissed, his son, somewhere in the throng, didn’t listen. “Draco, don’t be stupid!”

“No,” he called back, and was met with curious murmurs from both sides. “I’d like to say something.”

“Very well, Draco. I’m sure we’d all be fascinated to hear what you have to say.” Voldemort’s voice sounded very much like he had no interest in whatever Draco Malfoy had to say, but he’d granted permission nonetheless.

“It doesn’t matter that Harry is gone,” Draco announced to loud cries of disagreement. “Because—” he faltered.

“Because Harry taught us what we’re fighting for. Friends, family,” the crowd looked at him expectantly. “They didn’t die in vain, Harry didn’t die in vain.”

Suddenly, and to the surprise of many, he turned and looked Voldemort directly in the eyes, “but you will, because you’re wrong!”

Then, in a moment that would be talked about for many years to come, Draco revealed the Sword of Gryffindor.

In the momentary uproar that ensued, Harry managed to pry himself out of Hagrid’s tight grasp, collecting even more cries of shock.

“Why do you live!”

“Because I have something worth living for.”

“When you told Professor Snape it was failing you. It will always fail you.”

“It belongs to me! I killed Snape!”

“But what if the wand never belonged to him? What if the wand’s allegiance was to someone else?”

“Come on, Tom. Let’s end this the way we started it.”

“Why didn’t it work for him? The Elder Wand.”

“Because it answers to another,” he answered. “When he killed Snape, he thought

the wand would become his. But the thing is it never belonged to Snape.”

He glanced at Draco, not surprised to see the grief written sharply across his face.

“It was Draco who disarmed Dumbledore that night on the Astronomy Tower. From that moment on, the wand answered to him. Until the other night when I disarmed Draco.”

“But that means it answers to you!” Ron exclaimed, just as Draco said, “but that means it answered to me!”

He laughed softly. “Well, it answers to me now.” Then, without a second thought, as tempting as the prospect was, he snapped the ancient wand, casting it into the depths of the ravine.

“Well, the dust has settled,” he mused, watching Ron and Hermione walk off together, hands clasped tightly. At least one good thing had come from it all.

“Do you think everything was just leading up to this ending?” Draco countered.

“This isn’t the ending,” he corrected, a small smiling pulling the corners of his mouth. “This is only the beginning.”

“You finally figured out what you were fighting for,” he continued.

“So did you,” Draco echoed. Although, maybe they hadn’t quite answered all the questions.

“I suppose there was hope for both of us after all.”

They both let out a deep sigh. “I can’t believe you broke the Elder Wand.”

“I can’t believe you summoned the Sword of Gryffindor.”

They laughed loudly, and perhaps a bit inappropriately, given their surrounded. But for the first time in his life, he thought that, just maybe,

_All was well._


End file.
